s, as the poet says, _nudus nummis ac
vestimentis_,--

"'I have n't sixpence in my pack,
I have n't small clothes to my back.'

carryin' the bag many a weary mile, through sleet and snow, for six
pounds tin per annum, and no pinsion for wounds or superannuation; and
now I 'm to be--it is n't easy to say what--to the young lord a spacies
of humble companion,--not maniai, do you mind, nothing manial; what
the Latins called a __famulus, which was quite a different thing from
a _servus_. The former bein' a kind of domestic adviser, a
deputy-assistant, monitor-general, as a body might say. There, now, if
I discoorsed for a month, I could n't tell you more about myself and my
future prospects. I own to you that I 'm proud of my good luck, and I
would n't exchange it to be Emperor of Jamaica, or King of the Bahamia
Islands."

If we have been prolix in our office of reporter to Billy Traynor,
our excuse is that his discourse will have contributed so far to the
reader's enlightenment as to save us the task of recapitulation. At the
same time, it is but justice to the accomplished orator that we should
say we have given but the most meagre outline of an address which, to
use the newspaper phrase, "occupied three hours in the delivery." The
truth was, Billy was in vein; the listeners were patient, the punch
strong: nor is it every speaker who has had the good fortune of such
happy accessories.

CHAPTER XIX. THE CASCINE AT FLORENCE

It was spring, and in Italy! one of those half-dozen days, at very
most, when, the feeling of winter departed, a gentle freshness breathes
through the air; trees stir softly, and as if by magic; the earth
becomes carpeted with flowers, whose odors seem to temper, as it were,
the exciting atmosphere. An occasional cloud, fleecy and jagged, sails
lazily aloft, marking its shadow on the mountain side. In a few days--a
few hours, perhaps--the blue sky will be unbroken, the air hushed, a hot
breath will move among the leaves, or pant over the trickling fountains.

In this fast-flitting period,--we dare not call it season,--the Cascine
of Florence is singularly beautiful; on one side, the gentle river
stealing past beneath the shadowing foliage; on the other, the
picturesque mountain towards Fiesole, dotted with its palaces and
terraced gardens. The ancient city itself is partly seen, and the
massive Duomo and the Palazzo Vecchio tower proudly above the trees!
What other people of Europe